


A Song of Steel and Justice

by Mellon7



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Eighth Kingdom, Fix-It of Sorts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26058862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellon7/pseuds/Mellon7
Summary: What if Westeros had an eighth kingdom? One which went unconquered by Aegon Targaryen? What if that kingdom originated as a chivalric order dedicated to the cause of justice?
Kudos: 6





	1. Background Information

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire. If I did I would be a lot richer.

**Background Information**

**_Great Houses of the Brighthold_ **

**House Brightsteel of the Brightkeep**

Words: Justice Comes to All

Sigil: Sword dividing a White and Black Field with a Crown on the Left and a Scale on the Right

Castle: The Brightkeep

King: Aurellion IV Brightsteel - 42

Heir: Dareon III Brightsteel - 18

Spare: None

Other:

  * Princess Elinara Brightsteel - 22
  * Archon Brightsteel (Exiled) - 25
  * Queen Lisera Brightsteel (Deceased)
  * Prince Argilac III Brightsteel - 41
  * Prince Cadmus II Brighteel - 37
  * Ser Argos IV Brightsteel - 22
  * Varella II Brightsteel - 17
  * Cassandra Brightsteel - 15
  * Sarella III Brightsteel - 14
  * Jonelle Brightsteel - 36
  * Clarissa Brightsteel - 32



**House Brightsteel of Skytower**

Words: We Rise Above

Sigil: Black Griffin and White Falcon on a Sky Blue Field, with a Sword Between Them

Castle: Skytower

Lord: Octarion III Brightsteel - 40

Heir: Ser Artem Falcort - 21

Spare: None

Other:

  * Lady Helena Brightsteel - 38



**House Henge**

Words: Stand Firm

Sigil: Weirwood on an Orange Field and Pink Ground between Two Grey Boulders

Castle: Havenhenge

Lord: Jorren Henge - 40

Heir: Darin Henge - 22

Spare: Edric Henge - 19

Other:

  * Lady Alena Henge - 39
  * Ser Oswell II Henge- 41 (Abdicated)
  * Ser Ullmer III Henge - 37



**House Dei**

Words: Fear Our Horns

Sigil: Black Bull on a Green Base beneath a Red Sky

Castle: Aurochshall

Lord: Aaron Dei - 90

Heir: Ser Gerald Dei - 62

Spare: Ser Edmund Dei - 35

Other:

  * Lady Cassandra Dei (Deceased)
  * Edric Dei - 32 (Exiled)



**House Falcort**

Words: No Further

Sigil: A White Hand on a Grey Base below a Blue Sky

Castle: Stonehand

Lord: Harald Falcort - 48

Heir: Ser Galen Falcort - 30

Spare: Ser Marten Falcort - 28

Other:

  * Lady Shella Falcort - 45
  * Alton Falcort - 13
  * Derric Falcort - 11
  * Selyse Falcort - 11
  * Artos Falcort - 9
  * Lyra Falcort - 10
  * Arthur Falcort - 11



**House Croft of the Cross**

Words: Choose Wisely

Sigil: Gold Cross on a Green Field

Castle: Crofthold

Lord: Leyton Croft - 57

Heir: Ser Clytos Croft - 39

Spare: Ser Cedric V Croft - 37

Other:

  * Lady Arantha Croft - 53
  * Luthor XI Croft - 34
  * Humfrey III Croft - 22
  * Larstan V Croft - 18
  * Cynthia Croft - 15



**House Blackshore**

Words: From the Deep

Sigil: Black Shark on a Purple FIeld

Castle: Sawtooth Point

Lord: Lockland Blackshore - 41

Heir: Damon Blackshore - 22

Spare: Arson Blackshore - 21

Other:

  * Lady Lobelia Blackshore - 37
  * Bartemias Blackshore - 41
  * Balthazar Blackshore - 39



**_On the Origins of the Houses of the Brighthold_ **

_As told by Archmaester Ebrose_

**House Brightsteel of the Brightkeep**

Justice comes to all. A promise to the oppressed, a warning to their oppressors. Yet House Brightsteel is feared and respected for more than just its words. It is one of the oldest houses in all of Westeros, and the only house to retain its kingship after the coming of Aegon the Conqueror.

No one knows the exact origin of House Brightsteel. Even they have forgotten much of their ancient history. What is known is that, around 7,000 years ago, a ship landed on the shores of what is now The Bite. Why it came is unknown. Some have proposed that the passengers' lack of adherence to any religion led to them being chased from Essos. Others have suggested that their early discovery of steel led to them fleeing assassination attempts by the smithing guilds. But what is known is that every one of its occupants had sworn an oath — a sort of knightly vow before the existence of knights. It was a solemn pledge to pursue justice, to defend the innocent, and to avenge the wronged. Under the leadership of Arcturon the Progenitor, they established a keep on an oceanside cliff, a keep which would eventually become the Brightkeep.

Over the millennia House Brightsteel grew in both territory and power, becoming the kings of their own small kingdom. Their efforts to defend the innocent earned them the respect of the Smallfolk, and inspired countless small migrations of oppressed or hopeful to the Brighthold. And though small in manpower, its well-armed and well-trained army was able to defend the Brighthold against Ironborn raiders, rival kings, and Andal crusaders.

But then the Targaryens came. After Torrhen Stark knelt to Aegon, the conqueror set his sights on one of the few lands which had not yet submitted: the Brighthold. With his own forces outnumbering the Brighthold’s ten to one, Aegon expected an easy victory. So confident in his success was he that he flew ahead of his army, intent on burning the Brightkeep as he had done to Harrenhal.

Yet when Aegon had first flown across Westeros, King Archon Brightsteel saw the voyage for what it was: a prelude to war. In response, he ordered his brother, the eccentric Orban the Tinkerer, to construct a weapon capable of defending the Brighthold from an aerial attack. Orban succeeded, and when Aegon descended through the clouds to incinerate his foes, he was met with a hail of powerful ballista bolts which knocked both him and his mount from the sky.

By some miracle both dragon and rider survived, yet when Aegon came to he was surrounded by Brighthold soldiers, and his own army was too far away to be of aid. The Targaryen king was forced to recognize Brighthold sovereignty in perpetuity, and to continue to allow Brighthold soldiers to enforce peace and justice throughout his realm.

**House Brightsteel of Skytower**

Stonehand is impregnable from the East, but from the West it is no more defensible than any other castle. For centuries this vulnerability irked the lords of Stonehand and the Brightkeep alike, yet it wasn’t until the reign of King Aurelion Brightsteel that the problem was solved. In 283 AC, just one year after the end of Robert’s Rebellion, Aurelion ordered the construction of a watchtower at the western entrance to the Greywind Pass. To oversee it, he appointed his cousin, Lord Octarion Brightsteel, and wed him to Lady Helena Falcort to further unify the two houses.

Yet some people say Skytower has another, more secret purpose. Some hypothesize that it serves as the barracks for a hidden army, and that the strange monthly shipments it receives are food supplies for a massive force meant to invade the Seven Kingdoms. Still others believe that it is used to store ancient magical artifacts. Sheer nonsense! We in the maester community are almost certain that it acts as a secret reserve of gold. Whatever the case, Skytower took twice as long to build as it should have, and it is guarded by a large contingent of honor guardsmen.

**House Henge:**

Although they will deny it, a Valyrian Steel sword did once belong to House Bolton. Bloodletter, they called it, and it was the scourge of the North. That is until it was stolen in the night by Aldric Snow, a Dreadfort guard who decided to defect. Pursued by soldiers and hounds, Snow led a small group of refugees south, taking the sword with him. After weeks spent fleeing through snowy forests and muddy boglands, the refugees were starving and exhausted. But then, just when all hope seemed lost, they found salvation. At the southern edge of the Neck, the party came across a large hill, atop which there sat a massive weirwood surrounded by ancient monoliths. It was there that they found a Brighthold border patrol, which safely escorted them to the Brightkeep.

In exchange for an oath of fealty, Snow was given lordship over all Brighthold territory in the Neck. In honor of the stone henge where he found sanctuary, Snow took the surname Henge, and named the settlement which sprung up around the hill Havenhenge. 

In the millennia since its foundation, House Henge has proven its worth and fidelity to House Brightsteel time and time again, ruling justly and fairly over their territory and providing the Brighthold with the majority of its iron supply. Yet they have never once forgotten their origins. House Stark is and always has been a symbol of Northern culture and strength, and House Henge has aided and been aided by them countless times throughout the centuries. When the Andals invaded the Brighthold for the first time, House Stark sent 3,000 men to aid House Henge in driving them off. And when Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped Lyanna Stark, Lyman Henge travelled to King’s Landing with Rickard and Brandon Stark, and died there alongside them. Bloodletter, once a weapon of fear, was renamed Winterguard, and has been used by Henge lords to defend the Brighthold and the North alike.

**House Falcort**

After House Arryn’s conquest of the Vale, many of its First Men inhabitants were reduced to savagery. They became the Mountain Clans; raiders and thieves who preyed on travelers and merchants. But one man believed they could be more. Some 2,000 years ago, Ortigar Falconsbane, chieftain of the Milk Snakes, united several of the clans, bringing order and stability to his people for the first time since the fall of the Griffin King. But no matter how many clans he brought together, Ortigar knew that they would never have the discipline and resources needed to bring down House Arryn. Instead, he marched his people north, to the Brighthold. In exchange for land and protection, Ortigar bent the knee to King Varlan Brightsteel, and was given the kingdom’s land in the mountains in return. It was a good deal for both parties. Ortigar got land, and Varlan got someone to guard the vulnerable Greywind Pass between the Brighthold and the Vale. The Mountain Clan chieftain, now a lord, took the surname Falcort, and as his home chose a small mining colony in the middle of the Pass.

Over the millennia, Ortigar’s descendents expanded the colony, widening the tunnels and turning it into an impenetrable underground fortress. It became known as Stonehand, due to the flat, palm-like shape of the southern side of the mountain which has resulted from eons of weathering.

For thousands of years, life for House Falcort continued on uninterrupted (save for a few attempted invasions by House Arryn), until the coming of Aegon Targaryen. When the Vale lords knelt to the Conqueror, a few houses refused to follow their liege lords in bowing to a foreign invader. Instead, they sought sanctuary at Stonehand. Though in the early years after the union the First Men Falcorts and the newcomer Andals clashed, over time their cultures merged, and a lasting peace was established. Today, House Falcort exemplifies both Andal chivalry and First Men strength, and Stonehand is both the Brighthold’s greatest military stronghold and its most productive mine.

**House Croft**

Choose wisely. No house embodies its words better than House Croft. When the Searoad leading from the Brightkeep to the Seagard was completed in 113 BC, it formed a crossroads with the already existing Kingsroad. The first to take advantage of the economic opportunities this offered was a merchant by the name of Prentis Croft. Using his already formidable wealth, Croft built a tavern, which quickly became popular with travelers and traders passing through the crossroads. His son used that revenue to buy a tract of land which would later become a marketplace, and his son’s son used its revenue to build a keep. Today it is said that half the hamlet which sprung up around the crossroads is owned by House Croft, and they let no one forget it. It is this pride and greed which has earned them the contempt of many other houses of the Brighthold, a contempt which they return in kind. Still, House Croft contributes greatly to the kingdom, bringing in a disproportionate amount of its income and attracting external trade from the Seven Kingdoms.

**House Dei**

Some lords of the Brighthold are descended from warriors. Some are descended from wealthy merchants. The founder of House Dei was a farmer. In 329 BC, a farmer by the name of Daylen was travelling his crop to sell at Greystone, when he saw a wild aurochs charging towards a boy. At the cost of his own life, Daylen pushed the child aside, allowing the boy to escape to the safety of a guard patrol. For this act, Daylen’s eldest son Paxtor was made a lord, for the boy his father had saved was in actuality the young Prince Eltarion Brightsteel, who had run away from his lessons earlier that morning.

As thanks for his father’s sacrifice, Paxtor was given control of all the Brighthold’s Riverlands territory. An extravagant gift, to be sure, but one which has earned the Brightsteels the eternal loyalty of House Dei. Beloved by their subjects and respected even by most of the older and nobler houses of the kingdom, House Dei has guarded the western borders of the Brighthold ever since.

More remarkable than their rise to power though, is their actual power. Daylen’s wife Alla is believed to have been a bastard daughter of King Angstrom Durrandon, and it is said that through her blood came the remarkable strength some members of this family are known to possess. On top of that, a few of this house’s greatest heroes are recorded to have tamed bulls or even aurochsen and ridden them into battle, a feat no other lords can match.

**House Blackshore**

Over the centuries, the Ironborn have raided the Brighthold countless times, and each time they have been defeated. Their ships are burnt, their gold is taken, and their men are slain. But what about the thralls that are freed? Where do they go?

King Edrion Brightsteel sought to answer this. He saw how poorly people who had once been fishermen and shipwrights adapted to the agrarian life pervasive throughout the Brighthold, and sought to end their displacement. The Three Sisters had long been a haven for smugglers and pirates, and Edrion decided to solve two problems at once. He authorized an expedition to Long Sister, with the goal of eventually setting up a permanent outpost. Edrion hoped that it would eventually serve as a home for the Ironborn thralls, and mimic the coastal environment they had grown up in. Near the end of the fall of 54 BC a ship set out from Judgement Bay, with the intent of locating a suitable site on which to build the outpost, and then to return before the winter began.

The ship never reached its destination. Off the coast of Long Sister, amidst one of the worst storms ever seen in the Bite, it struck a reef and sank. While most of the crew made it off, their frantic swimming and kicking attracted sharks, which are said to have feasted upon them as they struggled to survive in the frigid northern waters.

Of the 42 men who set out from the Brightkeep, only one survived. Marwyn Pyke, a freed Ironborn thrall, saw in the darkness the silhouette of an island. But between him and land there was a swarm of sharks. Armed with only a filleting knife, Pyke cut his way through the bloodbath; the blood of the sharks he wounded distracting their peers. As the sun rose and night turned to day, Pyke climbed upon the shore of Long Sister.

When no word came from the colony the Brightkeep assumed the worst. When the winter had passed it sent another ship to finish the mission. It found the perfect spot on Long Sister: trees cleared out, a well dug, and a palisade already built to fend off Sistermen attacks. And in the middle of it was Marwyn Pyke. For his bravery and ingenuity, Pyke was named lord of the outpost. He took the name Blackshore, in honor of the silhouette which marked his salvation. Today, House Blackshore provides both harbor and shipyard for most of the Brighthold’s navy, and its people continue the proud maritime tradition of their ancestors.

**_Important Organizations of the Brighthold_ **

**High Council:**

Lord High General: Argilac Brightsteel

Lord High Admiral: Bartemias Blackshore

Master of Spies: Grimwalt

Master of Coin: Luthor Croft

Master of Wisdom: Maester Baenard

High Alderman: Moran

**Royal Guard:**

Lord Commander Edmund Dei

Ser Galen Falcort

Ser Cedric Croft

Ser Ulmar Henge

Ser Balthazar Blackshore

Ser Waylen Rivers

Ser Lyran of Aurochshall

Ser Baldric of Greystone

 **Honor Guard:** An elite force charged with protecting and serving important Brighthold members.

 **Council of Aldermen:** A group of twelve representatives elected by the people of the Brighthold. Though they mainly serve an advisory role, they have the power to confirm a new king or depose a tyrannical one, and to contest royal edicts and decisions.

 **Weirwood Guard:** Based in Havenhenge, this order of warrior monks was created in ancient times to protect followers and sacred sites of the Old Gods from persecution. With horned or antlered helmets and ornately engraved faceplates and armor, these silent guardians strike fear into those who would attack their faith.

 **Order of the Unseen Eye:** The spies and sleeper agents of the Brighthold spread across Westeros in jobs which allow them to monitor the Seven Kingdoms. Assuming every role from farmer to soldier, these men are well positioned to observe the activities of those who seek to harm their kingdom.

 **Order of the Shadow Hand:** Rangers positioned throughout the Seven Kingdoms who fulfill the ancient duty of the Brighthold to defend the smallfolk and enforce justice. Some wander across the land acting as knights errant, while others limit their movement to major cities or ranger outposts.

**_Notable and Ancestral Weapons of the Brighthold_ **

Name

| 

Type

| 

Material

| 

Owner  
  
---|---|---|---  
  
Justice

| 

Executioner’s Sword

| 

Valyrian Steel

| 

Aurelion Brightsteel  
  
Reckoning

| 

Longsword

| 

Valyrian Steel

| 

Aurelion Brightsteel  
  
Rampage

| 

Greatsword

| 

Valyrian Steel

| 

Gerold Dei  
  
Windfall

| 

Longsword

| 

Steel

| 

Harald Falcort  
  
Winterguard

| 

Longsword

| 

Valyrian Steel

| 

Jorren Henge  
  
Carnage

| 

Warhammer

| 

Steel

| 

Gerold Dei**  
  
Crimson Rage

| 

Shield

| 

Steel

| 

Gerold Dei**  
  
Chivalry

| 

Longsword

| 

Valyrian Steel

| 

Elinara Brightsteel  
  
Deep

| 

Spear

| 

Steel-Coated Enamel

| 

Lockland Blackshore  
  
—————————*

| 

Longsword

| 

Valyrian Steel

| 

Dareon Brightsteel  
  
* - Unnamed

** - Unclaimed

**_Map of the Brighthold_ **

**_Important Characters_ **

**King Aurelion Brightsteel:** The king of the Brighthold. Known for his wisdom and stern attitude. He will use any means at his disposal to defend his kingdom and bring about justice.

 **Prince Dareon Brightsteel:** The heir apparent of the Brighthold and second son of Aurelion Brightsteel. Currently being fostered at Winterfell.

 **Princess Elinara Brightsteel:** The only daughter of Aurelion Brightsteel. Allowed by her father to pursue knighthood rather than marriage, Elinara is skilled at both combat and equestrianism.

 **Archon Brightsteel:** The eldest son of Aurelion Brightsteel and the former prince of the Brighthold. Exiled for converting to the faith of R’hllor and for burning hostages to perform a blood magic ritual at the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion. Called the Blacksword for the black blade he recovered from the ruins of Valyria, and rumored to be able to perform magic. Currently working as a pirate, and allegedly half-mad.

 **Gerold Dei:** The elderly heir to Aurochshall and the former lord commander of the Brighthold Royal Guard.

 **Orin:** A supposed ex-sellsword living at Winterfell and a friend of Jon Snow. Rumored to be a former Weirwood guardsman and a Brighthold spy. 


	2. Chapter 1: A Similar Beginning

**A Similar Beginning**

* * *

In the Brightkeep Council Chamber…

* * *

“This could destroy the Seven Kingdoms,” said Argilac, handing the scroll to Cadmus as he finished reading it. 

“I take it you can see why I called you here,” said Aurelion. “If word of this gets out, it will mean war.” In the dim light of the room his face could hardly be seen, yet Argilac knew his brother would be grimacing. Aurelion had always been a serious and dour man, and news like this would only worsen his mood.

“Does anyone else know?” asked Cadmus, finishing the message as he spoke. Though usually the most easy-going and calm member of House Brightsteel, it was clear that the situation had his full attention.

Out of the shadows where he had been lurking in stepped another man. Hooded and cloaked in varying shades of grey and black, all that could be discerned in the darkness was his eyes. “Fortunately, Jon Arryn succumbed to a fever almost immediately after handing this letter to one of our spies in King’s Landing,” said the figure, “and it seems that no ravens were sent out before he died.” He spoke quietly, his voice so soft that it was barely above a whisper.

“I wouldn’t call it fortunate, Grimwalt,” said Aurelion. “Jon Arryn was a friend of mine, and one of the only good men in the capital.” Aurelion rubbed his temples, whether from exhaustion or frustration Argilac couldn’t tell. “With him gone, there is no one left to hold the realm together.”

“Apologies, your grace,” said Grimwalt. “I was merely speaking in regards to the current crisis. His loss is a tragedy, of that there is no doubt.” Aurelion nodded, accepting this apology.

“Back to the matter at hand, could Jon Arynn have been mistaken,” asked Cadmus. Argilac scowled. His younger brother’s optimism had always clashed with his own more cynical outlook on life, and it had no place in the shadowy world of royal politics in his opinion.

“Doubtful, my prince,” said Grimwalt. “Arryn was, to the best of my knowledge, correct in his assertion that every Baratheon is dark of hair, and Jaime and Cersei’s incest would explain the more violent and unsettling tendencies Joffrey Baratheon is reported to have. Moreover, the sudden and mysterious nature of his death led me to believe that someone wanted him silenced.”

“I thought you said it was a fever?” questioned Cadmus.

“The symptoms described match those induced by the poison known as the Tears of Lys, and in King’s Landing I find that it is often best to consider any death a murder unless proven otherwise,” explained Grimwalt.

“How he died isn’t as important right now as how we deal with this,” interrupted Argilac, impatient to return to their course of action. “Do we ignore this and cover it up, or do we start preparing for a war? I for one am in favor of the later.”

“What a surprise,” smirked Cadmus. His older brother was famous for his paranoia and belligerence.

“You can laugh,” growled Argilac, “but I doubt you’ll find it humorous when the Seven Kingdoms are at war with one another and we’re sitting here unprepared and undefended!”

“Raising an army now will only escalate the situation, and will tell the Lannisters that we know,” said Aurelion. His calm, ever-confident voice drew his brothers from their bickering. “We will send word to our banners to be at the ready, but we will not assemble our troops unless something comes of this. If we act too rashly, thousands of people may die.” Argilac didn’t like it, but he nodded in assent. “There is another problem which may arise,” continued Aurelion. “With Jon Arryn dead, Robert will likely make Ned Stark his new Hand.”

“Ned Stark won’t last a week in the capital,” spat Argilac. “And if he stumbles across this then he won’t keep it to himself. He’ll tell Robert, Robert will get angry, and a war will break out between the Baratheons and the Lannisters.”

“Which is why we must convince him to act with more caution,” said Aurelion.

“Why not simply persuade him not to accept the position?” asked Cadmus.

“Because he has to accept it,” explained Aurelion. “Jon Aryn was the only thing keeping the Seven Kingdoms together. Now Jon Arryn is dead. Unless someone can fill his role, the realm will fall into chaos. Ned Stark was raised by Arryn; he’s the best candidate to replace him.”

“You are forgetting one thing, older brother,” said Argilac. “Giving Ned Stark a chance at surviving in the capital isn’t something which can be accomplished in just one letter. To convey the breadth of advice and urgency required would necessitate a lengthy, in-person conversation. That means that either you must go to Winterfell, or Ned Stark must come here. Since you will be needed here to prepare for the unavoidable war,” (Cadmus scoffed) “How do you intend to convince him to come all the way to the Brightkeep?”

“If I may, brother,” interjected Cadmus. “Your youngest son is now 17. His fostering at Winterfell is due to end soon. Send a letter to Ned Stark. Ask him to return the boy on his way to King’s Landing, and talk to him then.”

“Are you implying I have another son?” said Aurelion coldly.

Cadmus sighed frustratedly and was about to respond, but Argilac stopped him. “Now is not the time for this argument,” he said forcefully. “It’s a good idea, Cadmus,” he added begrudgingly.

“Agreed,” said Aurelion, still glaring at his youngest brother. He took a deep breath and then released it, calming himself somewhat. “It will be good to see Dareon again as well.”

* * *

At Winterfell...

* * *

CLANG!

SWING!

CLASH!

In the courtyard of Winterfell, two men exchanged blows. The first man wore a black leather jerkin over a similarly colored gambeson. His hair was short, with dark, curly hair and the beginnings of a beard were growing on his chin. His opponent had equally dark hair, though his was straight, and his face was clean shaven. He wore a grey sleeveless gambeson over a royal blue surcoat that was the same color as his eyes..

The first man swung towards the other’s neck, a blow easily parried by the second man. Retreating to narrowly avoid the following riposte, the first man then attacked low, aiming for his opponent’s extended leg. While he missed, the action forced the second man to jump back, allowing his adversary to advance and regain control of the fight. The first man feigned a blow to the right before suddenly targeting the second man’s head. However, quicker than the first man could react the second man stepped to the side, grabbing the first man’s outstretched arm as he did so. Using his opponent’s momentum against him, the second man pulled his enemy forward, tripping him over an extended leg as he did so. The first man was thrown to the ground, and before he could get back up he felt the cold blade of the training sword on his neck.

_ Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. _

The first man looked up towards the audience. It was just two men. The first was Ser Ulmar, his opponent’s guardian, who was politely clapping for the victor. The second was Orin, the source of the chastising. The middle-aged man’s greasy hair and perpetually filthy cloak gave him an appearance of untrustworthiness, yet he was one of the few friends Jon had.

“You’ve got to do better than that, Jon!” shouted Orin. “If that were a real sword you’d be dead now!”

“Yes, I know how a sword works, Orin,” said Jon irritatedly, accepting a hand from his opponent to get up while he spoke. “And I’m plenty good already.”

“Try doing what I taught you,” suggested Orin.

“I’m not hurling mud in his eyes so I can hit him while he’s blind!,” protested Jon. “That’s dishonorable. Ser Rodrick says—”

“Ser Rodrick is a fat old man who’s spent too much time in this very yard teaching whiny brats not to impale themselves,” said Orin, prompting a wave of laughter from Dareon and Ser Ulmar. Even the normally morose Jon couldn’t resist a chuckle.

“You shouldn’t talk ill of Ser Rodrick, Orin,” said Dareon, though he was still smirking from the joke. “He’s had a rough enough day as it is.”

“The fact that Rickon’s direwolf almost ripped off his sideburn-beard does not mean I have to speak about him any differently.” replied Orin. “What was that thing’s name again?”

“Shaggydog,” responded Dareon.

“Aye, Rickon isn’t the best at names,” said Jon.

“You’re one to talk,” chuckled Dareon. “Have you even decided on a name for your direwolf yet?”

“It’s only been half a day,” said Jon defensively. “And I have a few ideas. What do you think about Winter?”

“I think that’s the name of one of the prostitutes in Winter Town,” said Orin. “Probably don’t want to be yelling ‘Come, Winter!’” in public.” Jon blushed.

“So not Winter. What about Phantom, since he blends into the snow?”

“I like the idea, but it still doesn’t really feel right,” said Dareon. “What about Wraith?”

The two boys discussed names as they walked back towards the keep, not noticing the Lady of Winterfell as she passed them by.

* * *

Catelyn marched towards the godswood, scrolls in hand. Even after nearly two decades of living in Winterfell, she still felt out of place in this part of the castle. As she approached the gate, she noticed the weirwood guard standing next to it. While he didn’t move to block her path, his cold eyes followed her as she passed him. Once she was out of his sight, she shuddered. Of all the parts of the godswood, she hated its guardians the most. Masked, motionless, and silent, the white armored sentries with their antlered helms unnerved her. She understood why the Brighthold had created them; in the times when the Faith Militant burned godswoods and persecuted worshippers of the Old Gods they may have served a purpose, but now the warrior monks only served to make her uncomfortable. Brushing aside these thoughts and focusing on the task at hand, she went to find Ned.

Her husband was sitting on a mossy stone, polishing the greatsword Ice while staring into the dark waters before the heart tree. She knew that right now he was contemplating the duty he had just performed, the life he had taken.

“All these years and I still feel like an outsider when I come here,” she said softly.

“You have five Northern children. You’re not an outsider,” he argued.

“I wonder if the old gods agree,” she replied.

“It’s your gods with all the rules,” Ned joked, continuing to work on his blade as he spoke. He looked up, the smile dropping from his face as he saw the look on hers.

“I am so sorry, my love,” said Catelyn, unable to meet his eyes.

“Tell me,” he commanded, his worry growing.

“There was a raven from King’s Landing,” she explained. “Jon Arryn is dead.” Her husband took on a profound look of melancholy and disbelief. “A fever took him,” she continued. “I know he was like a father to you.”

“Your sister? The boy?” he asked. She was touched by his concern.

“They both have their health. Gods be good,” she assured him. She allowed him a moment to mourn before continuing.

“The ravens brought two more messages,” she said. “The first was that the king rides for Winterfell. With the queen and all the rest of them,” She knew that such a visit would be both good and bad. While Robert was Ned’s oldest and dearest friend, such a reunion would also cost a great deal of coin and food, neither of which the North had in abundance.

“He’s coming this far North,” thought Ned aloud. “There’s only one thing he’s after.”

“You can always say no, Ned,” she reminded him, almost pleading. Her husband looked into the pond, contemplating what to do.

“And the second message?” he asked, after some time.

“Aurelion Brightsteel feels that it is time for his son to come home,” she said. Catelyn knew this would only worsen Ned’s mood. In the eight years the boy had lived with them, their whole family had grown to care for him. Even the bastard, she thought bitterly.

Ned sighed. “If that is King Aurelion’s command, then we have no choice but to obey. Dareon is his son, not ours. When does he wish for him to be returned by?” he asked.

“He requested that you do so within the next three months. He suggested that you drop him off while you travel to King’s Landing, should you accept the position of Hand,” said Catelyn. “Though how he knows about that is beyond me.”

Ned shook his head. “I gave up trying to understand Aurelion Brightsteel a long time ago,” he said. He stared into the waters of the lake a moment longer, the reflection in it bore a look of exhaustion. “Very well,” he said at last, standing as he did so. “Come, let us inform the children.”

* * *

One Month Later...

* * *

Atop the walls of Winterfell, Brandon Stark stood and watched as the royal procession approached. Red and gold banners fluttered in the wind, adorned with lions and stags. Bran rushed down from his perch, knowing full well that he needed to be in position when they arrived. With the grace of a squirrel he leapt down the side of the tower, sometimes allowing himself to fall several feet before catching a rock or thick vine. As he descended the final few yards, he was seen by his mother.

“Brandon!” she yelled, both worried and frustrated. A single misstep could leave him with a broken arm, or worse.

“I saw the king!” he proclaimed, oblivious to her emotions. “He’s got hundreds of people!”

“How many times have I told you no climbing!” she shouted, even as her son lowered himself from the thatched roof of the stable.

“But he’s coming down  _ our  _ road!” he said excitedly.

“I want you to promise me,” she said, “no more climbing.”

Bran looked down at his feet dejectedly, and then quietly muttered, “I promise”

“Do you know what?” asked his mother.

“What?” asked Bran.

“You always look at your feet before you lie,” she said. Bran smiled, and she couldn’t bring herself to remain mad at him. “Run and find your father,” she commanded. “Tell him the king is close.”

As the first members of the royal entourage entered the keep, Arya Stark pushed her way through the amassed citizens of Winterfell. With a stolen sallet on her head and a small amount of dirt on her face, she hardly looked like a highborn lady. Climbing onto a cart to get a better view, she saw two Lannister red cloaks riding by, fierce lions upon their red banners. A lavishly dressed golden haired boy followed, with a gargantuan armored man close behind. The man wore a fierce dog shaped helmet which obscured his face from view. The Hound, thought Arya.

As her family lined up in the courtyard, Catelyn looked around and realized that her youngest daughter wasn’t present.

“Where’s Arya?” she asked. “Sansa, where’s your sister?” Her eldest daughter merely shrugged. If Arya wasn’t present it could be seen as tremendously disrespectful to the king, not to mention humiliating for her family.

Moments later, the girl in question came running into view, an overly large helmet on her head.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey,” said her father, stopping her before she could take her place in the line. “What are you doing with that on?” he asked, removing the headpiece as he spoke. His daughter looked saddened by the loss of it, but at her father’s urging ran to stand next to Bran.

“Move,” she said rudely, pushing her brother aside as she joined the line. Bran might have reacted if Dareon hadn’t patted him on the shoulder in sympathy. Ignoring his sister’s actions, he looked forward and smiled just as the first of the royal party entered the keep. He saw Sansa smiling at the crown prince and gagged internally. Joffrey Baratheon had an ill reputation, and it pained him to see someone he had come to view as a sister fail to see it. His revulsion quickly found a new source however, when the king rode through the gate. Fat and red-cheeked, the family nonetheless knelt to him as he approached, with the exception of Dareon and Ser Ullmar, the latter of whom merely bowed. Ser Ulmar was a member of the Brighthold Royal Guard, and had been protecting the prince for as long as Bran could remember.

Dareon looked on as the fat king was given a stool to dismount from his horse, unable to connect the man before him to the warrior of whom Ned Stark had so often spoken. Dareon for his part had never had the same image of the king as the Stark children, knowing from his own father that Robert Baratheon had a reputation for laziness and incompetence, and had begun his reign by sanctioning the murder of children. Dareon watched as the king of the Seven Kingdoms approached Ned Stark before subtly signaling him to rise.

“Your grace,” said Lord Stark, bowing.

Robert was silent for a moment, and then simply said, “you’ve got fat.”

Nobody was sure how to respond to this, and for a few seconds the only noise came from birds. Finally Ned Stark looked down at the fat king’s stomach, as if to point out that the same was true of him, and to a far greater extent. The two men were silent once more, before quickly breaking down into laughter.

“Cat!” said Robert, embracing her while patting Rickon on the head.

“Nine years,” said the king. “Why haven’t I seen you? Where the hell have you been?”

“Guarding the North for you, your grace,” responded Ned, as the queen stepped out from her wheelhouse. “Winterfell is yours.”

“Where’s the Imp?” asked Arya, not seeing the infamous dwarf with the others.

“Would you shut up!” hissed Sansa, not wanting her rude little sister to make her look bad in front of the prince.

“What have we here?” asked the king, moving down the line. “You must be Robb,” he said, stopping in front of Ned’s eldest son and shaking his hand. “My, you’re a pretty one,” he said, moving on to Sansa. “And your name is?” he asked, nearing the end of the line.

“Arya,” said the girl. He could see she had her aunt’s ferocity as well has her looks.

“Ooh,” said Robert, moving on to Bran. “Show us your muscles.” Bran flexed his arm, attempting to make his biceps as big as possible. “You’ll be a soldier,” laughed Robert.

Finally the king came to Dareon. The smile fell from his face as the two men stared at each other. Eventually Robert simply said, “you look like your father.” 

“So I’ve been told,” said Dareon, not breaking eye contact as he spoke. 

“Your father is an uptight, arrogant, and self-righteous fop.” said Robert with a scowl. He and Aurelion had not parted on good terms; the Brighthold’s king had told Robert off for his actions regarding the Targaryen children before storming out of King’s Landing. “Are you?” he asked.

“I suppose only time will tell, your grace,” said Dareon with a false smile. Robert stared at him for a moment longer, unsure how to respond. Then, without a glance back at Dareon, he turned to Ned Stark.

“Take me to your crypts, I want to pay my respects,” he commanded.

“We’ve been riding for a month, my love,” pleaded the queen. “Surely the dead can wait.”

The king ignored her. “Ned,” he barked once more, moving to leave as he did so. The two men walked towards the crypts, and it seemed that conflict between the many disparate people in attendance had been avoided.

“How dare you refuse to bow, peasant?” said Joffrey angrily. He was addressing Dareon, who turned to look at the Baratheon prince. “People ought to kneel before their betters.”

“You are not my better,” said Dareon calmly.

Joffrey’s face went from shock to anger to rage. It was clear nobody had spoken to him as such before. “How dare you!” he shouted. “Hound! Cut off his head!” The Hound did nothing, knowing full well that attacking a prince of the Brighthold was not a good idea, but Ser Ullmar placed a hand on his sword and stepped in front of his charge. The sight of an armed knight moving towards him, even though it was just a single step, caused Joffrey to back up, trip over his overly long cloak, and fall into the mud.

This was met with a variety of reactions. Arya laughed, Dareon merely raised an eyebrow, Ned Stark looked stunned and Cersei rushed over to her son, brushing him off while glaring at Dareon and Ser Ullmar.

“IDIOT BOY!” bellowed Robert, who had almost reached the door of the crypt. “He’s a prince! He’s not required to bow!” He stormed back to his son and hoisted him up roughly, ignoring Joffrey’s pitiful squeals and protests. “GO! COWER BEHIND YOUR MOTHER’S SKIRTS, OR WHATEVER IT IS THAT YOU DO ALL DAY. Come on Ned!” he shouted, going back to his original objective. Everyone else in attendance was left stunned by the display.

* * *

Jon Snow stood in the courtyard beating the training dummy relentlessly. It was cold out, but he didn’t feel it; his anger and intoxication overpowered the discomfort. So engrossed was he in his bitterness that he didn’t hear a horseman ride into the otherwise empty courtyard.

“Is he dead yet?” asked a voice. Jon turned around, his scowl breaking into a smile when he saw who the visitor was.

“Uncle Benjen!” he said, giving the man a hug.

“You got bigger,” noted his uncle. “I rode all day. Didn’t want to leave you alone with the Lannisters. Why aren’t you at the feast?”

At this, Jon’s expression soured. “Lady Stark thought it might insult the royal family to seat a bastard in their midst.”

Benjen gave his nephew a sympathetic smile. “Well, you’re always welcome at the Wall,” he said. “No bastard was ever refused a seat there.”

“So take me with you when you go back,” pleaded Jon excitedly.

“Jon…” began Benjen, hoping to spare the boy the unpleasantness of the Night’s Watch.

“Father will let me if you ask him, I know he will,” continued Jon, not understanding his uncle’s hesitance.

Benjen paused for a moment, torn between preserving the boy’s innocence and putting an end to his dream. “The Wall isn’t going anywhere,” he said at last.

“I’m ready to swear your oath,” begged Jon.

“You don’t understand what you’d be giving up,” argued Benjen. “We have no families. None of us will ever father sons.”

“I don’t care about that,” said Jon.

“You might,” responded Benjen, “if you knew what it meant.” He looked towards the keep, where sounds of the feast could be heard. “I’d better get inside. Rescue your father from his guests.” Jon looked at him despondently. “We’ll talk later,” promised Benjen, right before he left.

“Your uncle’s in the Night’s Watch,” noted a voice. Jon turned and was met with the sight of the shortest man he had ever seen standing in the shadows.

“What are you doing back there?” asked Jon, angry that someone had been eavesdropping on his conversation.

“Preparing for a night with your family,” answered the man, sipping from a wineskin as he did so. “I’ve always wanted to see the wall,” he commented after a long swig.

“You’re Tyrion Lannister,” guessed Jon. “The queen’s brother?”

“My greatest accomplishment,” said Tyrion. “You, you’re Ned Stark’s bastard, aren’t you?”

Jon scowled before turning to leave. “Did I offend you? Sorry,” stated Tyrion. “You are a bastard, though.”

“Lord Eddard Stark is my father,” replied Jon defensively.

“And Lady Stark is not your mother. Making you a bastard,” said the dwarf matter-of-factly. “Let me give you some advice, bastard. Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor. Then it can never be used to hurt you.”

“What the hell do you know about being a bastard?!?” exclaimed Jon angrily.

Tyrion turned back to look at the boy. “All dwarves are bastards in their fathers’ eyes,” he said. Then, without any further explanation, he walked into the keep.

Jon stared at the retreating figure of the Imp for a second before turning back towards the dummy. He had just resumed striking it when he heard yet another voice.

“What did Tyrion Lannister want with you?” asked Dareon. He was holding two mugs, one of which he held out for Jon, which he graciously accepted. Both friends took a long drink before Jon responded.

“Nothing much,” said Jon. “Asked about Uncle Benjen and the Wall.”

“You’re not still planning on taking the black, are you?” asked Dareon.

“There’s nothing for me here,” said Jon, a mix of bitterness and sadness in his voice. “The Wall is the only place for a bastard like me.”

“You could always go to the Brighthold,” suggested Dareon. “I can get you a place in the Honor Guard. You might even earn a spot in the Royal Guard. We don’t discriminate against bastards there.”

Jon thought it over. The Brighthold Honor Guard and Royal Guard were both prestigious orders, and their members were held in high esteem throughout Westeros. But the Wall had been his dream for years, and its purpose was just as noble if not moreso. “I appreciate the offer,” he said. “But I belong in the North.”

Dareon nodded. He didn’t approve of his friend’s choice, but he knew that nothing he could do would change Jon’s dream.

“Why are you out here, Dareon?” asked Jon. “You’re royalty. You’re accepted, respected, you even have a seat at the high table with the king.” He couldn’t keep a hint of jealousy from seeping into his words.

“If given a choice between standing out here in the cold with you, or sitting in there while the king gropes a kitchen maid and the prince makes false boasts to your sister, I think I’ll choose the cold,” said Dareon. “Now come on. If you want to swing a sword around, you need a better opponent than that dummy.” Jon chuckled.

“I’ll get the training swords from the armory,” he said, grinning.

“Actually,” suggested Dareon, “with Ser Rodrick at the feast there’s nobody to stop us from using real blades. In fact…” he said, drawing his sword from its scabbard, “I’ll even let you use my sword for the night.” The Valyrian blade shone enticingly in the moonlight, the chance at wielding it overcoming any hesitance Jon had to duel with live steel. “Try not to cut my head off.”

* * *

Ned and Catelyn were in bed, the feast having only just ended. Robert had eaten and drank long into the night, leaving both of them exhausted.

“I’m a Northman,” thought Ned aloud. “I belong here with you, not down south in that rat’s nest they call a capital.”

“I won’t let him take you,” promised Catelyn fiercely.

Ned chuckled. “The king takes what he wants. That’s why he’s king.”

Catelyn sat up. “I’ll say, ‘listen, fat man,’” much to Ned’s amusement. “‘You’re not taking my husband anywhere. He belongs to me now.’”

“How did he get so fat?” pondered Ned.

“He only stops eating when it’s time for a drink,” responded Catelyn, causing both of them to laugh.

They were drawn out of their levity by a knock on the door. “It’s Maester Luwin, my lord,” \said a guard.

“Send him in,” ordered Ned, returning to his usual seriousness. The door opened with a creak, and a balding man in a grey robe stepped through. Around his neck was a chain: the sign of a Maester of the Citadel.

“Pardon, my lord, my lady,” he said somberly. “A rider in the night from your sister.” Catelyn stood up suddenly, snatching a letter from the elderly maester’s hand.

“Stay,” ordered Ned as Luwin turned to leave, just as Catelyn saw the seal on the letter.

“This was sent from the Eyrie,” she exclaimed. “What’s she doing at the Eyrie? She hasn’t been back there since her wedding.” Catelyn finished reading the letter and then immediately burned it.

“What news?” asked Ned, startled by his wife’s actions.

“She’s fled the capital,” explained Catelyn, her voice trembling. “She says Jon Arryn was murdered. By the Lannisters. She says the king is in danger!”

“She’s fresh widowed, Cat,” reasoned Ned, afraid to believe that his sister-in-law’s claims were true. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

“Lysa’s head would be on a spike right now if the wrong people had found that letter,” argued Catelyn. ‘Do you think she would risk her life, her son’s life, if she wasn’t certain her husband was murdered?”

“If this news is true, and the Lannisters conspire against the throne, who but you can protect the king?” said Luwin.

“They murdered the last hand,” retorted Catelyn angrily, turning on the maester. “Now you want Ned to take the job?”

“The king rode for a month to ask for Lord Stark’s help. He’s the only one he trusts,” said Luwin. “You swore the king an oath, my lord,” he added, addressing Ned.

“He spent half his life fighting Robert’s wars. He owes him nothing,” countered Catelyn. She looked to her husband, who stood deep in thought. “Your father and brother rode south once on a king’s demand,” she said darkly.

“A different time,” pointed out Luwin. “A different king.”

Ned pondered what had been said. Catelyn was correct that Lysa was most likely right. Nobody would risk making an accusation against the Lannisters unless they truly believed it. And she was right that he owed Robert nothing. He would act not out of duty, but out of friendship. He had made his decision.

* * *

The Next Morning…

* * *

“Are you as good with a spear as you used to be?” asked Robert to Ned. He and his retinue were about to go on a hunt, and he had invited his new Hand to join them.

“No,” said Ned. “But I’m still better than you.” The king laughed.

“I know what I’m putting you through,” he said. “Thank you for saying yes.” He sighed. “I only ask you because I need you. You’re a loyal friend, you hear me? A loyal friend. The last one I’ve got.”

“I hope I’ll serve you well,” said Ned.

“You will,” promised Robert without a moment of hesitation. It was clear to Ned that his old friend still thought highly of him. “And I’ll make sure you don’t look so fucking grim all the time.” With that, the king set off on his horse. “Come on, boys, let’s go kill some boar!” Ned followed close behind, making sure to nod goodbye to Bran before he left.

Bran waited until his father had left the castle before darting off, his direwolf close behind. Running to the broken tower, he began to scale its walls. He felt bad breaking his promise to his mother, but it might be his last chance to climb before going to King’s Landing with his father. As he moved from foothold to foothold and grabbed onto an old beam, he began to hear something. It sounded like panting.  _ Strange _ he thought. Nobody was ever in the broken tower, and certainly not making noises like that. Climbing some ivy to reach the source of the noise, he at last came to a window, which he dared to peek through. And what he saw shocked him.

His hero Ser Jaime Lannister was hunched over his sister, her dress lifted up to expose her lower half. Both were grunting, though the queen’s sounded more like moans. Although he had never seen it before, he had overheard Theon and occasionally Robb enough to figure out what they were doing.  _ The queen and her brother were having sex! _

Suddenly the queen looked up. Frozen by incredulity, Bran was unable to move out of the way. “Stop! Stop!” she said, fear evident in her voice. Panicking, Bran attempted to climb back down, but was grabbed by Ser Jaime before he could escape.

“Are you completely mad?” he asked the boy.

“He saw us,” whispered the queen.

“It’s alright. It’s alright,” reassured her brother.

“He saw us!” she shrieked again.

“I heard you the first time,” said Ser Jaime. He looked down to see Bran’s direwolf pacing worriedly at the foot of the tower, and then turned back to Bran. “Quite the little climber, aren’t you? How old are you, boy?”

“Ten,” he said worriedly. Surely the knight wouldn’t hurt a child, would he?

“Ten,” repeated Ser Jaime, before letting go of Bran. He looked back to his sister and then lazily said, “the things I do for love.” With that he pushed the boy from the window. A gasp was all Bran could manage before he hit the ground, and then, darkness.

* * *

In Pentos…

* * *

Daenerys watched as a Dothraki man disemboweled another before throwing the fallen man’s braid to the Khal. Though disgusted by what she saw, she attempted to hide her revulsion from her new husband out of fear of angering him. Her mind was taken off such matters by the arrival of another man before Drogo. Unlike most of the men at the celebration, this one was pale-skinned and fair of hair. He had a short beard, and was slightly balding. Drogo seemed to recognize him, and the man bowed to the Kahl before turning to Daenerys herself. “A small gift for the new Khaleesi,” he explained, holding out a stack of books. “Songs and histories from the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Thank you, ser,” she said. It was a welcome change from the slaves, animals, and weapons that had been presented earlier. “Are you from my country?” she asked.

“Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island,” the man said, introducing himself. “I served your father for many years. Gods be good, I hope to always serve the rightful king.”

Jorah left with a bow, prompting Illyrio to stand. At this signal, two slaves delivered a large box to Daenerys — a gift from the fat cheesemonger. They opened the lid to reveal three strangely textured stones.  _ No _ , not stones,  _ dragon eggs _ .

“Dragon’s eggs, Daenerys,” affirmed Illyrio. “From the Shadowlands beyond Ashaii. The ages have turned them to stone, but they will always be beautiful.” Daenerys picked up one of the eggs, enthralled by it. Though Illyrio said they had been petrified, Daenerys still felt a warmth in them.

“Thank you, magister,” she uttered.

Drogo stood, interrupting her trance. She knew what was coming, she knew what would occur, yet she mustered the strength to stand and follow him. She dare not risk awakening the dragon.

“Wait!” said a voice. She turned to see a Summer Islander run through the crowd before stopping in front of her.

“My captain asked me to deliver this to you, Khaleesi” he said, handing her a small bundle. “It was recovered from the ruins of Valyria, your ancestral home.” Daenerys unwrapped the parcel and withdrew a bracelet. It was made of purple gems set in a wavy metal.  _ Valyrian steel _ she realized. She recognized the metal from a few of the pieces of jewelry she and her brother had been forced to sell to survive. Attached to the bracelet was a single scrap of paper. There was no writing on it, only an inky black seal: a fiery sword in a burning heart piercing a broken crown.

“Who is your captain,” she asked the man.

“A friend,” he said mysteriously. Before she could ask anything else he bowed and retreated back into the crowd, where she lost sight of him.

On the roof of a building near the manse, a hooded figure lowered the Myrish eye through which he had been watching the wedding. As the new couple left to consummate their marriage, he retreated inside.


End file.
